Vera
by NefretForthEmerson
Summary: What if a certain valet actually was guily of poisoning his first wife?
1. The Diagnosis

**A/N: This story came together when I was talking about Downton Abbey with my mom and then while reading an interview with Brendan Coyle where he talked about Mr. Bates maybe having actually done the deed. It was originally going to be just one whole chapter, but I decided to split it up. Please read and review (particularly dialogue).**

**A/N II: I know only the basics of tuberculosis and probably got something wrong. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer: Try as I might, I still don't own DA.**

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Tick. Tick. Tick.

The ticking of the clock felt like the striking of a hammer to her. The noise of the street below sounded dull in comparison. It had been five minutes since he had left the room. Surely, he should have returned by now.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The door creaked open. "Ah, Mrs. Bates, I'm afraid that I have some bad news for you," the doctor gruffly said.

"Yes," Vera asked slowly, worried that her breath would hitch.

"I've gone over your test results, more than once mind you, and there's no mistake. You have tuberculosis. Unfortunately, there isn't much that can be done for you, but there are some who have been helped by trips to sanitariums. Would it be possible for you to go to one?""

"Not likely, I don't have the money," she replied bitterly. If only Johnny hadn't left her, again, or she hadn't questioned the divorce decree.

"Then the best that I can offer is to get lots of fresh air," he said briskly, "thank you for your visit Mrs. Bates."

Vera left the office in a daze and soon found herself on the street. She was a fine lady. How could she have this disease? It was only for poor people. She stood still for a moment until a random man ran into her.

"Watch where you're going you bloody simpleton," the man growled.

Vera burst into genuine tears, for the first time since she was five and learned that tears could win her anything.

The man softened. "I'm sorry, love. I wasn't looking where I was going."

Vera continued to shake with sobs and a crowd was gathering around the pair.

"Alright love, why don't you come along with me. I'll get you a cup of tea."

He led her across the street to the Mawbey Arms. A few minutes later, he had a pint of ale in front of him and she had a cup of tea. After Vera took a few sips, he asked, "feeling better?"

"Not quite yet, but I shall be soon enough," she said wanly.

"Again, I'm sorry that I ran into you. I must've had my head in the clouds."

"I wasn't paying much attention either."

"Would you like another cup of tea?"

"No, but I wouldn't mind some whiskey," she replied, reading his reaction carefully.

Several rounds later, Vera had told the man almost everything, excepting her newly diagnosed illness and her very much alive husband. He had been far less effusive with his details. His name was Alfred. He worked as a mason and was being kept from the front due to his flat feet. She didn't need to know anything else.

"I've got to get to my bed," he said.

"Need help finding it," she asked archly. She was rarely this forward, but she couldn't quite care about breach of propriety, not tonight, not with her news.

"By a fine lady such as yourself, sure," he slurred. He settled their account and beckoned her to follow. 'Another night, another man,' she mused ruefully.


	2. The Confrontation

**A/N: I am not entirely sure that this turned out well. Apparently I couldn't quite imagine something truly terrible. I also wanted to take a moment to thank my friend who reads every story and gives me suggestions. It's especially wonderful because she's not even a fan of DA.**

**Disclaimer: Nope, I haven't received a royalty check from ITV or PBS this month.**

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Looking at the mirror, she pinched her cheeks. She had been looking pale and drawn of late and that would never do. She liked looking hale and hearty whenever he was there. She could tell that he thought that she would outlive him and even Anna. Deciding that pinched cheeks weren't going to be enough, she pricked her finger and dabbed the resulting blood lightly on her cheeks. She had just pinned her hair when the bell rang.

Several minutes later, she set the tea service on the table between their two chairs. 'What a homey air this gives,' she thought sardonically. Silence reigned for a few minutes.

"I hope your journey from Yorkshire was pleasant," she said.

"Not particularly," he replied curtly.

"I'm not sure what you hoped to accomplish by coming here. Nothing has changed and nothing will."

"Vera, why do you hold on? You have the money that Carlisle gave you and you have had my money, if you'd just let it happen."

"Well, I know you won't believe me if I said it was because I cared for you."

He sniggered.

"But," she continued, "honestly, I don't like the pitying looks. All of London thinks that I am a spinster and I'm not, not really."

"Pitying looks? You've put me through hell because of pitying looks?"

"In the beginning, yes, and then I came to Downton and saw your Miss Smith. I'm in London getting pitying looks and there you were with a girl who could be your daughter."

"Vera…"

"No doubt her youth blinded you to the fact that she's clearly no innocent. I'd wager that she's bedded every other male servant in the house. She'll be off like a shot the moment that she's had you, that is if you can follow through on that promise. As I recall, you were rather deficient in that area."

"Vera," he hissed.

"Perhaps I should have let the divorce decree happen. Seeing you stuck with that little whore for life might have been worth it."

She watched as his face turned red and his fists clenched and unclenched. She knew what was coming and she wished that Anna could be there to see the truth of John Bates.

"Vera, I have tried living with you, not living with you, drinking myself into a stupor, not drinking, talking, yelling, begging, ignoring, pleading with you," he said is a calm tone that surprised her, "there's nothing left to say and all that's left to do is hope that I survive you."

Something snapped inside of her. Why should Anna get this man? She stood up and walked over to the china cabinet. Without thinking, she picked up a tea cup and hurled it at him him, hitting him on the temple. "John Bates, you will never rid of me. Even if you do survive me, I will haunt your every step," she seethed.

Holding a handkerchief to his wound, he got up and without another glance walked out the door.

'Oh Batesy, you're done with me by a long shot, ' she thought. She took out a piece of paper and began writing a letter to her dear friend, Amelia Thatcher, each stroke of her pen consigning him to a bleak life.


End file.
